


Helping Yourself

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Bucky being stubborn, Cybernetics, Fugitives, Gen, HYDRA in control, Sharon knocking sense into Steve, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When HYDRA takes over the world, not everyone rolls over and complies. The fugitives form their groups, form alliances - strong and tentative - to help one another, and slowly attempt to band together and take back their world. One small cluster of people works towards joining such a team, but whether or not they'll all make it in one piece is a worry at the front of their minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from. I had an idea about Bucky's arm and wanted to get it out to make up for the kinda crap day I've had (went to sleep late, woke up late, got soaked when going out, watched a bus drive away with my phone still on it, forgot my money even though I knew we were going to a bar - you get the idea). It's occurred to me that a lot of my late fics have been Bucky-centric - believe me when I say this has only a little to do with the movie build-up, and that it'll probably continue until long after the film's release!
> 
> Anyway. This is just a basic AU that I decided to write because I a) couldn't get the idea out of my head, and b) need to practise a better writing style for my upcoming uni assignments. Hope y'all enjoy :-)

Six of them in an empty warehouse should be cause for alarm. Paranoia stains the atmosphere; silence helps to rack up the tension, the echoes of their movements even more so; worried glances are exchanged frequently, despite the uneventful passage of time, and none of them manage to settle enough to relax. 

Steve watches them all carefully. Sam seems the most at ease, leaning back in his holochair with an ankle resting over his knee as he tucks into his rations, wings within reach. Natasha, too, could easily pass for comfortable, attention directed at the tablet she’s reading from, though Steve knows she’s hardly oblivious to everything else. On the ground beside her, Clint tends to his arrows, having gone through his entire arsenal once already. His agitation is quiet and controlled, but there nonetheless. Sharon is a different matter; as Steve’s eyes switch to her she sighs in frustration and clears up another failed game of Solitaire – the easy version with a single deal rather than a triple. She sets out another hand anyway, glowering at the old fashioned card deck as if it’s to blame. Saying something won’t help, so Steve moves on to Bucky, who’s sat taught in his chair, rubbing the back of his head as if… 

Abruptly, Bucky stands. “Be back in a sec,” he mutters, and stalks away from their circle. Steve watches him head for a stack of plastic crates. 

“Think he’s okay?” Sam asks around a mouthful of rations. 

“We’re all on edge, in case you haven’t noticed,” Clint grunts. 

“He’s a little different, though.” 

“Only a little,” Sharon emphasises. 

Steve pushes himself up from his chair, saying, “I’ll go check on him.” They hardly acknowledge the fact, but voicing it reinforces their awareness of his position in the building. 

“Maybe he’s just doing his business,” Clint suggests as he goes, and Steve hears Sam point out the portacabins in the corner. The crates are a good few metres away toward the back of the warehouse, far enough that any conversation he and Bucky might have won’t be heard at the table. Steve doesn’t even hear the steady, forced breaths until he reaches the edge of the stack, and what he finds when he steps round the corner is what he hoped he wouldn’t find. 

Bucky is crouched on the floor, shirtless, his back open to Steve. In the corner of the ‘booth’ made by the crates lies his tactical vest and undershirt, and on top of them the cybernetic arm. He cradles the remainder of his left arm in his right hand, massaging the scar tissue as he breathes meditatively. Steve can’t see the lines of pain on his face, but what strikes him is that Bucky has rarely been this vulnerable before. He shifts audibly on the spot, folding his arms to rustle his clothing. “The chip again?” 

He has to wait one exhale for his answer. “It was getting hot. Waited as long as I could to take it off.” Bucky stands fluidly from his crouch, perfectly balanced. He turns to face Steve, weariness incarnate. 

“Why didn’t you say anything, Buck?” 

“James.” 

“… Sorry.” 

Bucky shrugs, hand still on his stump. “My problem, not yours.” 

“Bullshit. Wouldn’t you want to know if Sam was having the same issues?” 

“Sam’s chips work fine.” 

“That’s not the point.” 

“He’s probably used those wings longer than I’ve used the arm. If he was gonna have chip issues, it would’ve happened already.” 

“If he did have chip issues, he wouldn’t keep it from us.” 

“Steve, our situations aren’t the same.” 

“Right. He doesn’t hurt himself taking the wings off to give the chips a rest.” 

Dropping his hand, Bucky sighs, eyes slipping closed. “I can deal with this.” 

“You shouldn’t have to,” Steve responds, the argument so familiar that neither of them need to voice the rest of it aloud. He steps forward, reaching for Bucky’s head, but his friend jerks backwards. “James.” 

“It’ll cool down soon.” 

“And then you’re gonna put the arm back on straight away.” Bucky looks anywhere but at him. “You’ve been fiddling with the damn thing more frequently lately. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

“… I don’t like leaving it off.” 

Steve closes the distance, pressing the backs of his fingers a little behind Bucky’s right ear. He frowns at the temperature. “Keeping it on isn’t doing you any favours.” 

“Means you lot don’t have to worry about defending me.” 

“We’d rather you were defenceless than dead.” He’s only half-sorry about the sting of his words. “Keep it off, James – for tonight at least. Detaching and reattaching it affects your body as well as the chip. Maybe that’s the difference between you and Sam.” 

“Sam doesn’t need his fucking wings to be normal,” Bucky spits. 

It takes Steve a second to respond. “Lots of people got by with one arm before –” 

“Before HYDRA decided they were a waste of their time.” 

“Just because HYDRA –” 

“Hasn’t found us yet doesn’t mean they won’t. And if they did, who d’you think they’d go for first? The guy with wings who can outfly their guns, the four able-bodied fighters capable of holding their own, or the one-armed guy with just a handgun and a knife in his belt?” 

Steve sets his jaw. “We wouldn’t let that happen.” 

“And neither would I.” Bucky gestures to his missing limb. “I’m a liability like this. I need to defend myself.” 

“So you’re gonna let some faulty old Russian tech potentially kill you instead?” Anger, or fear, is let loose at last. 

“It didn’t last time.” 

“But what if there’s a next time? You won’t get away with a few lost memories, Bucky, that chip’ll fry you for good!” 

“It’s James, and there's not gonna be a next time!” 

“Right, because what you’re doing now is exactly the way to deal with this.” 

“I told you, it’s my problem –” 

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be yelling loud enough for the rest of us to hear,” Clint calls, and Steve steps back around the crates to see their friends approaching. 

“You’re having chip problems again?” Sam asks as he passes Steve. 

Bucky angles himself protectively. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

“Maybe I could help –” 

“Doubt it.” 

“Bucky, would you just –” 

“James, Steve, how many fucking times –!” 

“Okay, time out,” Sharon interrupts, moving between them. She puts a hand on Steve’s chest and pushes. “You and I are going to talk.” 

“But –” 

“Your lovers’ spat is putting us all at risk,” she hisses, “and isn’t doing either of you any good. Nat and Sam’ll deal with James.” Over her shoulder, Steve sees Bucky grimace. 

Sharon and Clint move him across the warehouse. He can still see Bucky’s hiding spot, and keeps watching as Sam and Natasha give him a dressing down of their own. “He’s being an idiot.” 

“So are you,” Clint returns. He shrugs when Steve frowns at him. 

“Clint’s right. Losing your temper with James is pointless – you of all people should know that.” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “He’s not taking care of himself but he refuses to let us do so as well. It’s getting ridiculous.” He looks at them both pointedly. “That chip’s heating up quicker and quicker, and you both know it.” 

“Right. But what can we do about it?” Clint asks. “Sam helps as best he can, but James isn’t wrong when he says they’re different, Steve.” 

“I know that.” 

“Do you?” Steve turns to Sharon, confused. “Think about it, Steve – this isn’t just a case of different chips for different appendages, or even difference in technological development. Sam’s had modern, fairly recent training in how to live with this device. Whatever training James had was not only probably sporadic and second-rate in comparison, but is completely gone from his memory. He’s having to re-learn how to live with cybernetics on the fly. Being on the run and having damaged goods aren’t helpful factors either, but do you really think hounding him over his decisions is beneficial?” 

Letting out a held breath slowly, Steve watches as, in the distance, Natasha picks up Bucky’s shirt. “He doesn’t need it twenty-four seven.” 

“I know I’d prefer two arms to one in this day and age,” Clint comments. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr Russian Assassin’s still terrifying with one arm working, but he probably feels more efficient with two.” 

“He said he doesn’t want to be a liability.” 

“Then it’s our job to show him he won’t be,” Sharon says, and Steve can see Sam and Natasha heading their way, Bucky between them carrying the cyber arm. “These are difficult times, Steve. Trust James to know his limits.” With reluctance, Steve nods. 

“We were thinking we could stay here another day or two,” Natasha says as they regroup, “try and get out a signal to the others before HYDRA pin us down.” 

“Do we know where they are?” 

“The Sandbox, we think. It’s the one place HYDRA doesn’t have yet, and if anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D’s going to hear us they’ll be there.” 

Sharon nods. “Who are we likely to get?” 

“Fury, Hill, Coulson, Sitwell, Ward and May.” 

“It’s a good plan,” Steve says, “but risky. Aren’t there any other groups we can call out to for help?” 

“The Howling Commandos might be around,” Sam suggests. “Don’t know how quickly they’d be able to help, though.” 

“Same for the Invaders,” Bucky adds. 

“Is it worth looking for the Brotherhood?” Sharon asks, but nobody is particularly enamoured with that idea, even with the X-Men out of the equation. 

Clint comes up with their next possibility. “How about the Rising Tide?” 

Natasha mulls it over. “They’re not exactly a support group, but they could probably put us on the right path to S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“Underground hackers? I’d hope so,” Sam says. 

“Let’s run with that then,” Steve decides. “Any contact is risky, but contacting them sounds less dangerous than going directly for S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“HYDRA could still get us from this,” Sharon warns. “It’ll have to be a quick send, just a few seconds’ worth at most.” 

“And then we move as soon as possible. No hanging around here longer than necessary.” 

“I can do that,” Natasha assures them, and they collectively return to the table and chairs. 

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Steve keeps Bucky back for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly; “I didn’t mean to…” 

Bucky nods. “’S okay.” 

“Is it?” 

He sighs softly. “Sam says there are people in S.H.I.E.L.D who could help, some scientists Coulson knows. FitzSimmons, or something like that.” 

“‘People’?” 

“Apparently. I don’t get it either.” 

“That’s a relief,” Steve admits, “but you’ve still got to stay alive long enough for them to help you.” 

He expects a scowl, but Bucky just nods again. “I’ll try.” 

A low rumble surrounds the warehouse, and everyone freezes with their heads tipped back. The force of the passing HYDRA ship makes the building shake and their holographic furniture flicker unsteadily, and nobody breathes until the shuddering stops altogether a few minutes later, freshly reminded that they all have to stay alive if any of them are going to be remotely safe in this world.

***

Trouble finds them halfway to the Sandbox. The Rising Tide proved to be the smart choice – a hacker named Skye had worked out the safest route for them and sent the group on their way about a week ago, and before the shooting starts Steve has a few milliseconds to be grateful they hadn’t encountered difficulties sooner. After that it’s chaos; they’re fighting at a dock (they’d been told a boat would be available for them), and while the cargo crates are perfect for ducking behind and confusing the enemy it’s hell trying to keep track of one another. 

Steve only knows where Sam is – the air. He thinks he hears Sharon close by. Clint took off towards a crane when the first shots were fired. Bucky went in the opposite direction to Steve. Natasha could be anywhere. Steve isn’t sure how long it’s been, but whatever patrol they’d caught the attention of is heavy and refuses to go down quickly, and he spends far too long hiding behind a tower of metal barrels before their luck takes a good turn. Against the twilight sky he faintly makes out the curving arc of an arrow, and, back pressed against the barrels, he watches its trajectory. It lands on the patrol ship Sam is tackling, and barely two seconds later Steve is thanking fate, destiny, and every discarded God he can think of for Clint’s skill with a bow and arrow. 

The explosion shakes the dock. The HYDRA soldiers stop to watch their transport rain down on them in pieces, and Steve takes advantage of their bewilderment to take out the three who had him pinned. He hears Sharon doing the same, with Sam swooping down to lend a hand, and just as he dispatches his third Natasha melts out of the shadows. “Clint’s on his way – the coast is clear.” 

He’s about to respond when something in the distance catches his eye. It’s a smudge of black against the deep blue sky, but it’s fast approaching and growing in size. His stomach drops. Maybe Clint hadn’t realised what it was, or hadn’t seen it at the time of his report to Nat, but regardless the gunship is definitely heading their way. “We have to go, now!” 

The two of them are running as the first missile is fired, and the sound of metal barrels being torn apart just metres behind them nearly has Steve dropping to the floor. Instead he pushes on, keeping up with Natasha as they happen upon Sharon and Sam, who takes off instantly to bring Clint closer to them. Another missile hits dangerously close, sending shrapnel up and out in all directions, and whilst weaving between the stacks of crates makes it harder for them to be targeted they don’t have any protection from the lethal pieces. Steve worries for Sam and Clint, who’ll be easy targets in the air, and Bucky, whom he’s yet to lay eyes on. 

Sprinting from one end of the dock to the other with missiles and shrapnel raining down on them feels like a minor eternity. Steve’s heart is already going into overdrive when he catches sight of their boat, and he shouts to the others over the noise as best he can. A few paces later, and a silvery flash tells him he isn’t running alone; “Bucky!” 

Bucky grips his arm fiercely. “Steve –” 

The explosion makes them stumble, and Steve drags Bucky back into running. “Come on, Buck, we’re nearly there!” 

“Steve, I –” 

“I know you prefer James, but is now really the time?” 

“That’s not –” 

“It can wait James!” 

“No,” Bucky gasps, fingers digging into his muscles. “Steve, my chip!” 

“What?” He skids to a halt, forcing Bucky to do the same. His friend’s face is drawn in pain, metal hand pressed to the back of his head, and Steve is so distracted by the single, repeating thought of _No!_ that he barely brings up his shield in time to protect them from an explosion. “We’ll detach the arm on the boat,” he says hurriedly, encouraging Bucky to run again. “Just stay with me James, ‘kay?” 

“I don’t know –” 

“You can do it. We’ll make it.” 

Even as they cover the distance between them and the boat, Steve can feel Bucky’s grip tightening, can hear his breathing become more laboured, and he wishes they could go faster. It doesn’t help that Bucky ends up using the arm to balance whenever the dock shakes beneath the barrage; he’s almost running bent double as they finally break past the line of cargo, Sharon and Natasha emerging at the same time. 

“Alright,” Steve says, “let’s get you on –” 

“What the fuck?” Sharon exclaims, looking skyward. Steve follows her gaze, feeling his heart stop when he sees Sam, Clint dangling beneath him, flying back towards the gunship. In a moment devoid of time, a missile tears out of the silhouette in their direction – and explodes in mid-air. Steve barely catches Clint nocking another arrow, but the next missile also explodes prematurely, as do the two sent after that. The fifth explosion takes apart the gunship, and Sam curves round in the air as Sharon whoops loudly to Steve’s right. He grins too, a mixture of relief and adrenaline – 

“Steve!” 

The grin is wiped off his face. Bucky clings to his arm like it’s a lifeline, eyes screwed shut, metal fingers digging hard into his skull. Steve grabs his shoulders, frantically pulling back the material of Bucky’s left sleeve. “How do I do this? Talk to me Bucky, help me get it off!” Bucky just makes a pained noise, sinking to his knees as Sharon and Natasha start to run over. “Bucky – James – stay with me, you have to – no, no!” The arm goes limp, and Bucky flops sideways, Steve catching him before he hits the ground. Though the pain is gone from his face, his eyes are closed and he is pale. “Bucky?” Even through a shirt, the heat from the back of his head is alarming. “James?” Blood starts trickling from his ear. “Bucky!”

**Author's Note:**

> D8
> 
> I may add more, I may not. Only time will tell...
> 
> A little background to these 'chips' I kept mentioning.
> 
> In this universe, people have the option to be cybernetically enhanced, either because of disability or for military advantages. This means that those who choose to undergo cybernetic enhancement are given technology 'upgrades' that are controlled via brain chips. These chips allow brain waves and nerve impulses to operate whatever enhancement the individual receives, and have developed in ability, efficiency, complexity and safety over the years.
> 
> Early examples of cybernetic enhancements were prosthetic limbs. People who had suffered loss of limbs - like James Barnes or Mike Peterson - would be given mechanical replacements and a corresponding chip to control the new limb. The chip is inserted directly into the necessary side of the brain; for Barnes, who lost his left arm, the chip is in the right side of his brain, as it's the right side that controls the left. Training for these individuals was gradually developed to reduce risk of brain damage from the chip, and to allow them to adjust to the new way of life they would undoubtedly experience. After a few false starts, the cyber limbs became one of the standard options available to amputees.
> 
> Military developments came soon after, and operated differently to the prosthetic aids. The most common military cybernetics were external additions to the body, with the chips often having to be doubled up and inserted into both sides of the brain to allow for stability and better control. Notable users of military cybernetics include Sam Wilson, Tony Stark and James Rhodes; Wilson was the first to test out a portable wing design that enabled soldiers to fly in a manner similar to birds by thought alone. Though the wings were detachable and required no direct body contact, the cyber chips had to be modified to allow for the control needed to keep flight steady, and extensive training programs were developed before the first test flight. With Stark and Rhodes, huge advances in personal weaponry meant that an individual could become encased in a weaponised 'suit of armour', with larger chips, greater risks and more intense training but near-unmatchable results in combat. Very few individuals meet the requirements for such suits.
> 
> Problems with the cybernetic chips have been 'smoothed out' since their initial development, but there is always a risk present. Early models caused severe damage to the brain and skull, and users suffered varying degrees of pain (ranging from headaches to aneurisms, and reportedly strokes and tumours, though these claims were never confirmed). One frequent issue was that prolonged use of a cybernetic enhancement caused the chip to overheat; this problem was solved by making the chips activity respondent - i.e., when the enhancement was detached, the chip went into standby, only activating again once the enhancement was reattached. This type of chip was soon restricted to solely military enhancements, with cyber limb users gaining new chips that didn't require frequent limb removal and 'cool down' periods.
> 
> Chips can still become faulty through unforeseen circumstances, such as mental health issues or extreme physical experiences (for example, Russian experiments with cryogenics revealed that repeated freezing and un-freezing of a person with a cyber chip caused the chip to malfunction, with damaging results to the person's psyche). Research has lately been geared to looking at chip replacement procedures - an operation that would allow someone to have a new chip inserted if an issue arose with the original. To this date, there have been no successful chip replacements for cyber-enhanced individuals with malfunctioning cyber chips, although the number of reported faults in single and double chips has drastically decreased within the last few years.


End file.
